About Three Authors

by Patti Roberts

  Becky dragged a mystified Roger up roughly by his elbow, the fork he’d been holding slipping from his fingers and clattering noisily onto his plate, instantly silencing everyone sitting around the table.

  “I’m sorry, Dad,” Becky eventually spluttered without so much of a glance in Felicity’s direction, “but Roger and I really do have to get going. I’ve got this overdue article that I have to have finished by the morning.” She shot a conspiratorial glance at Uncle Steve, hoping that he would corroborate her lie.

  “Yes,” Uncle Steve had said, wagging his finger at her and dragging his napkin across his mouth. He folded the napkin and placed it on the table. “Make sure the article is on my desk first thing in the morning, young lady. We can’t go to press without it.” He pushed back his chair and stood, kissed her on the cheek, then slapped Roger joyfully on the back. “Chin up, old man,” he said to the frowning Roger, a saying that had Roger flinching every time he heard it.

  Becky often suspected that it was why her uncle said it in the first place, to annoy Roger. Uncle Steve had never been that fond of Roger, believing Becky deserved, and could do, a lot better. He’d all but said so every time Becky mentioned Roger’s name in passing conversations.

  Roger had complained all the way home. “Where does he get off calling me an old man?”

  “You know it’s just a saying,” Becky had said irritably, trying to hold back tears.

  “And what was all that crap about an article? What article? You really embarrassed me back there, by the way, dragging me up from the table like that. You could have at least waited until I finished my dinner. I was really enjoying it.” He slammed his hand down on the horn. “Green light, fuckwit. Come on. Hurry the fuck up,” Roger shouted angrily through the windscreen as he shook his fist. He turned and shot a quick glance at Becky. “How the hell did your dad manage to score a sweet piece of arse like that at his age anyway? Good on him, I say,” Roger said, not waiting for a reply. He pumped the horn again.

  Becky glared at Roger in disbelief and imagined punching him in the nose, really hard. “My father had a tart sitting in my mother’s chair, eating off one of my mother’s special occasion plates, that’s why I had to get out of there, Roger, but I don’t expect you to understand that.”

  Roger shook his head. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Forget it.”

  “It’s not as though your mum would care about a bunch of dumb plates, Beck, she’s dead.”

  “I know that,” Becky snapped.

  “Then don’t you think William deserves to move on and be happy?”

  Becky clenched her teeth together. “He could have waited for a while, that’s all I’m saying. Mum hasn’t even been gone a year and he’s already,” her voice broke, “fucking some gold-digging tart that is almost young enough to be my sister, in my mother’s bed. So no, I don’t want my father to be happy. Not yet… and certainly not with her. Full stop.”

  Roger shrugged. “I don’t get you women.”

  As soon as Becky arrived at the office the next morning, she called William. “What are you thinking, Dad? Have you gone completely bonkers?” she’d asked. “Mum’s not been gone a year, and you’ve already got a big-breasted, red-headed tart in your bed. A bed you shared with Mum for thirty years, I might add. Don’t you love Mum anymore? Have you forgotten about her already?”

  Her father’s voice sounded tired. “Please don’t talk like that, Beck. I miss your mother every day, but I’m not a young man and I’m not used to being alone. It’s okay for you; you’ve got Roger. But I’m here in this big house all by myself. I can’t do it, Beck, and your mother would want me to be happy… No one will ever replace your mother. A man could never be that lucky twice. Victoria was the love of my life, Beck, but she’s gone. Felicity was there when I needed someone to talk to, a shoulder to cry on, and, well, she makes me happy.”

  “She’s your secretary, Dad.”

  “You’d like her if you gave her a chance…”

  “She’s so plastic, Dad. And I bet those perfect boobs of hers are fake.”

  “Beck, stop it. Don’t think for one moment that me moving on diminishes the love I had for your mother, because it doesn’t. I just want to be happy. I deserve to be happy, don’t I? Your mother thought so.”

  “Yes, Dad,” she’d said, starting to cry. “I know Mum would want you to be happy. I want you to be happy, too, but not with your bloody secretary. It’s so bloody cliché. Will you promise me, please, that you will not rush in and do anything without thinking about it first, Dad? I think the best thing you can do is give yourself some time to adjust to all this before jumping into anything new, don’t you? That’s what you’d say to me in the same situation.”

  “Becky…” her father began.

  She heard the strain in her father’s voice, and it pained her more than he could possibly imagine. “You know I love you, Dad, but will you please just think about what I’ve said?”

  “Yes. I’ll think about it, Beck,” William had replied.

  And then what had her father gone and done? He’d gone and married Felicity just weeks later. That’s what he had done. And on top of that, her father had taken the new Mrs. Jensen on a Jamaican honeymoon, and right now, Becky imagined they’d be sitting around a shimmering, crystal-blue swimming pool fashioned into the shape of a tropical lagoon. Felicity would be wearing a tiny bikini and a big stylish hat that dipped down one side of her face, making her look like a famous actress. She’d be wearing designer sunglasses, too, and her makeup would be perfect, just like it always was. She would be sipping on a rainbow-coloured cocktail, of course, accessorised with wedges of exotic fruit and a pretty little umbrella. The sun would be tanning her ivory skin a golden brown, while Becky stood freezing half to death in a cemetery, which she supposed would be rather convenient, if she did happen to freeze to death.

  How dare he? Becky thought angrily as she pulled the hood of her coat up over her head, looking nothing like a famous actress. The least her father could do was be here for the first anniversary of her mother’s death. Would that have been so hard? Victoria would never have disrespected William in this way.

  Fresh tears sprang to Becky’s eyes, and she shuddered as a frigid gust of wind slapped her coat around her legs, snapping her from her thoughts. Snow began to fall again, blanketing the frozen ice-slick all around her in a fresh layer of pure white. Becky closed her eyes for a moment. Angel’s kisses from heaven, she imagined Victoria saying this as she’d held out her hands to catch the falling snowflakes. Her mother had said that each year, as the first snowflakes of winter had begun to fall.

  Becky held out her gloved hands. “Look, Mum. Angel’s kisses from heaven.”

  Chapter 2

  Have A Plan.

  “If you fail to plan, Becky, you are planning to fail,” her mother would tell her as she jotted down a list of items required to make the recipes she’d added to her weekly menu planner. Victoria was always saying inspirational quotes like that, and as a child, Becky had thought that her mother must have written the book.

  Becky walked back to her car with her arms wrapped tightly around herself. She unlocked the car door and climbed in, sitting in silence for a long moment just staring out blankly at all the snow topped tombstones.

  On the drive back into town, she quickly glanced at her watch. Her mother would be very pleased to know that the plans she’d made today were well ahead of schedule. This was more due to the fact that the traffic from the cemetery back to Westminster had not been as busy as she’d thought it would be.

  She thought about a conversation that she’d recently had with Roger. She’d lost count of how many times he’d said, “For God’s sake, Beck, can’t you just go with the flow… be more spontaneous? Why do you always have to have everything planned out days, even weeks, in advance? I bet you can tell me what you’ve got planned for dinner next Thursday.”

  She had stared up at him. “I don’t think you realize
how much money I save us every week by checking out the weekly specials,” she retorted, scanning the online specials from Waitrose on her computer screen. “Going with the flow, Roger, does not save us money or get the bills paid.” She tapped her finger on the luminescent screen and said, “Look at this. Four lightly coated Pollock fillets for under two pounds. That’s half price.” She added two boxes to her virtual trolley, while Roger rolled his eyes and shook his head.

  “Well, fine then,” he’d said, lacing up his runners before storming into the bathroom. A moment later, a sickly waft of cologne chased him through the door. “You can stay here and do the shopping if you want to, but I’m going for a jog.” He was wearing a new Ralph Lauren t-shirt, and had styled his hair.

  “Bit fancy for a jog, don’t you think?” she said, rubbing her temples with the balls of her fingers in a futile attempt to ward off the impending headache.

  “I might call into the pub on the way back and catch up with some of the lads from work.” He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and slipped his wallet and iPod into his back pocket.

  She smiled. “I’ll join you as soon as I’ve finished this.”

  “Sure,” he replied without looking at her. He worked the tiny ear pods into his ears while making his way to the door.

  “Which pub?” she called after him, but the door was already closing behind him. She sighed, got up out of her chair at the small kitchen table, poured a glass of water and swallowed two Disprin that she’d found in the zip compartment in her bag. Sitting back down, she decided she’d call him when she’d finished her online shopping. She searched the site and added two boxes of Disprin to her trolley. She sat back in her seat and surveyed the ceiling for inspiration, then she looked back at the computer screen and searched for scented candles and a nice bottle of wine.

  A romantic evening, she had decided, was well and truly overdue. Perhaps that was all that was needed to whip their lacklustre sex life back in shape. How long had it been since they’d made love? Two months, or was it three? She couldn’t remember. She found a nice bottle of Brancott Estate Merlot/Cabernet from Australia for ten pounds and added it to her trolley, then moved onto finding a lamb roast, Roger’s favourite. She wouldn’t go to the pub, she’d print out the shopping list and go shopping instead, surprise Roger with a lavish roast lamb dinner with all the trimmings instead.

  “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, dear,” her mother would say, scooping spoonsful of mashed potato onto the top of a shepherd’s pie. “The experts will tell you that the universal language is math. That Mathematics is the only language shared by all human beings regardless of culture, religion, or gender. But I disagree. I believe it’s a good, hearty meal.”

  Becky had never known what to make of that, so she’d just smiled and said, “You are probably right, Mum.”

  Somewhere in a bottom drawer in her bedroom was a sexy, red satin nightdress that Roger had bought her a year ago.

  “It just doesn’t feel appropriate, what with Mum being so sick,” she’d told Roger when she’d unwrapped the box he’d given her.

  Exasperated, he’d replied, “I didn’t buy it for your Mum, Beck. I bought it for you. I don’t know. I just thought that something pretty might make you feel a bit happier. You’re always so sad these days.”

  Shortly afterwards, Victoria had died, and the box with the pretty red satin nightdress was placed in the bottom drawer and had been forgotten about.

  Printing out her online shopping list, Becky had got up from the kitchen table, dressed, and then gone shopping. She’d also make sure to remember to look for that pretty red nightdress when she got home.

  A few hours later, with scented candles flickering all around the apartment, a bottle of wine chilling on the table, and a roast lamb dinner in the oven, Becky had decided that just about all the bases for a romantic night were covered. Standing on her tiptoes in front of the mirror in her bedroom, she turned one way, then the other, admiring her reflection in the mirror as she adjusted the spaghetti straps on her shoulders. She took a long, speculative look at her reflection, then, putting her hands under the silky nightdress, she slid the matching thong down her legs and quickly shoved it back in the drawer just as she heard the squeak of the front door opening.

  BECKY JENSEN’S FACEBOOK STATUS: Christmas Eve. Meeting Roger and Mandy for drinks at the pub.

  Becky could hear music and voices coming from the Red Lion as soon as she turned the corner into Parliament Street. As she walked along the pavement, she smiled pleasantly as she edged her way through a group of people who were talking and smoking outside the pub.

  It was busy inside, with people congregated around the bar in different groups. A cacophony of voices and music melded together in an incomprehensible din, as voices rose and fell, fighting to be heard. Some people were holding pretty carry-bags with colourful store logos, laden with last-minute Christmas shopping for family and friends.

  She craned her neck, scanning the mashing, animated bodies for Roger and Mandy, but couldn’t find them anywhere. She looked at her watch, and realized that she was nearly twenty minutes early, and that she had obviously arrived before them. Deciding she still had plenty of time before they would arrive, she threaded her way through the mingling bodies and headed towards the ladies’ bathroom.

  Once inside, she would call Roger to let him know she’d arrived early. She pushed open the door to the bathroom and set her shoulder bag down on the counter. Alone in the bathroom, she leaned forward and scrutinised herself in the mirror, turning her head one way, then the other. She checked her teeth, then ran a finger under both red-rimmed eyes, wiping away traces of tear-smudged mascara. From her shoulder bag she extracted a hairbrush, powder compact, and a rose-coloured lipstick.

  A thud and a giggle emanated from one of the stalls, letting her know she wasn’t alone, as she’d first thought. She quickly brushed her hair and applied some lipstick, then pulled the phone out of a pocket in the side of her bag.

  “Shh,” a girl in one of the cubicles whispered. A moment later, the girl giggled again.

  Becky took a quick peek under the cubicle door and discovered a pair of women’s shoes and a pair of men’s shoes partially covered by his trousers. Jesus, she thought, suppressing a chuckle when she realized the couple were having sex in the toilet. Leaning up against the bathroom counter, she dialled Roger’s number and listened to the ringtone trilling in her ear. She couldn’t wait to tell Roger and Mandy about the couple having sex in the toilet. Mandy would think the act risqué and so exciting. Roger would give the guy the thumbs up for his adept persuasion.

  Seconds later, a phone in the cubicle began to shrill. That’s a timely coincidence, Becky thought, turning to gaze at her reflection again, running a finger over her bottom lip to perfect her lipstick. She would make a conscious effort to be happy tonight. Her mother would want her to be happy, she told herself, rolling her lips together.

  Another thud on the other side of the cubicle door had Becky smiling as she imagined someone losing their balance and falling up against the wall.

  “Shit,” a male voice muttered.

  Becky pulled the phone away from her ear. With her heart pounding, she held her breath, the smile collapsing from her face. The phone in the cubicle fell instantly silent. She felt something twist in her chest. This couldn’t be happening to her. Surely she was mistaken. The phone ringing in the cubicle was just a coincidence, wasn’t it? Roger would never do anything like this to her… would he? She shook her head, shaking away her doubts. Of course he wouldn’t, she told herself. She was just being paranoid. She would go back out into the bar and Roger and Mandy would be waiting for her in their usual spot.

  The three of them had known each other now for years, and although Roger and Mandy had both started working at Templeton Investments together, and he complained about Mandy regularly, they were all friends.

  “I see her five days a week at work, surely I don’t have to see her on the
weekends as well?” he’d always grumbled when she and Mandy had made plans to catch up over the weekend. “It’s hardly ever just the two of us. It’s like the pair of you are joined at the hip or something. I always feel like I’m competing with her for your attention.”

  Becky quickly gathered up her bag, pushed open the door to the bathroom, and then let it close. You’re just being stupid and paranoid, she thought. Roger would tell her that she’d read too many romance novels about cheating boyfriends. Mandy would tell her that women know these things, and suggest they stalk the said accused boyfriend until they found out what the cheating bastard was up to… or who, to be more precise. Mandy was so Charlie’s Angels when it came to all this kind of stuff.

  The cubicle door squeaked opened a fraction.

  “It’s all clear,” the man whispered, stepping out, turning his back on the door and combing his fingers through his brown hair. “You go out first.” He held the blond girl’s face in his hands, kissing her. “See you out there in a sec, okay?”

  “Oh, crap,” the girl said, buttoning up the top button of her green satin shirt, her feet frozen to the spot.

  “What’s wrong?” the man asked, frowning at the look on her face, then slowly turned around.

  “Yes. Oh crap,” Becky mimicked, stepping out from a partition to stare at the mortified faces of Mandy and Roger, wondering which one of them looked more horrified, and if either of them felt as sick to the stomach as she did at that very moment. “Your fly is undone,” she blurted, staring blankly at Roger.

  “Oh,” he said feebly, reaching down to zip it up. “Thanks.”